


Shifting the sands about

by alighttheflames



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Au! Of the Pool, BAMF!John, F/M, M/M, Magic Realism, Prisoner of War !John, and odd dreams, missing time, trying to get through this with out even really know how to, were!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alighttheflames/pseuds/alighttheflames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John came back from the war he never really thought about the missing time from when he was held, he never really thought about the odd set of scars on his leg nor the limp that came with it. At least not until everything starts to emerge from his dreams after the little encounter at the Pool. He's going to need as much help from Sherlock as he can get to figure out what is going on before Moriarty's web ensnares the both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flashes of the Past

Flashes of blood, and the hard grit of sand in places that sand should never be, the loud echo of bullets and the loud screams of men all around him. The blur of movement, caused by eyes darting about wildly trying to pin down the source of fire, only for it to be stilled as loud explosions rocked the air and eyes squeezed shut.  
  
Screams of terror, the loud snarls that echoed through the ruined street, the stark crunch. Everything lost its definition as the world swirled about refusing to stay in place a loud shout of "Retreat!" was issued a quick glance showed that the other men were shifting back.  
  
Being so close to the firing line made it hard to try and move back and a loud and sudden growl knocked all thoughts of leaving out, the sharp flash of pain and then darkness. All that would follow would be a swirl of color and muddled sounds, utterly confused by everything until the world cleared with a loud and ringing shot and the hot flare of pain.


	2. Chapter 2

If there was one thing that John Watson knew, it was that no matter how hard one tried to avoid it, the past would always reemerge, and it wouldn't always pick a good time to do so. 

If one was ever inclined to ask him, he would tell them that sometimes its the oddest things that bring it back, pulling things out of the deep dark recesses that it hid in, making everything surge forwards fresh like the day it happened. 

Not that anyone would be asking him right now, he thought dryly to himself as he peered blearily at the ceiling above him, his eyes trying to focus on the spackle hiding there as he tried to push back the rather vivid nightmare that had just rocketed through his skull. 

It wasn't often that he had to stay at the hospital, but it seemed when one went out and started playing with psychopaths then it was warranted, even more so when his own sociopathic roommate was part of the mixture. It seemed that the two while they liked to play together couldn't share toys.

A shocker that one really

Being strapped up in a bomb and moved about like a chess piece was not something he was a true fan of, it reminded him too much of the time frame missing in his mind, the time when they had lost all hope on him being alive before he was found bleeding out from a gunshot wound. 

But that was most likely why his mind was fighting against him once again, and he was sure that the sulking form of Sherlock was watching his every movement and would soon be pouncing to start asking questions. 

In fact he could feel those curiously pigmented eyes watching his breathing as he tried to calm the erratic beating of his heart. He could practically hear the thudding of the other males own heart as he sat as still and motionless as a statue, breath barely stirring the air about him. The only telling sign was the soft swish and hiss as air moved between tightly clenched teeth. 

There were times that he wished his senses lied to him, though the fact that he was more the a little worried about Sherlock having sleep apnoea, either that or it was just too _boring_ to breathe, that kept him having all his senses turned towards the other at almost all times. If only to reasure himself that the other man hadn't died because he didn't bother to breathe like a sane human being.

Honestly that man had a death wish ,as had been seen when he shot at the vest that had been wrapped around John chest, one that had been hastily removed from his person. before the wild dunk into the pool was the reason that John was even in the hospital to begin with. 

Stray bullets seemed to like him a lot and there must have been a bulls eye on him somewhere. Though he was rather surprised by how well Sherlock could tackle, for someone made of skin and bones he sure had a good force behind him. 

But back to listening to the other male, distantly hoping that he would stay quiet and not really notice that he was awake and staring blearily ahead, not that it would happen, the other male seemed to know what he was thinking even before he was thinking it. It wasn't even dark in the room so he was fairly sure he had no fighting chance.

Waking up in a semi dark room with the thick haze of medicine clouding his mind was something he was oh so familiar with, the sickly sweet twang that filled his mouth as he tried to breath evenly noting the twinge and pull if new sutures, and the distant throb that belonged only to wounds made by bullets. It made him flash back to the time when he seemed to have woken from a thick fog, brain distantly connected to his body hardly sending signals to and fro before it went into overdrive. 

Ever since he had woken again after being found, that was four months he would probably never remember but he still had his metals for it and the actions he took once he got free, he had noted the odd things about him, movement and what not that he wasn't use to. When he told his therapist this she told him it went to his trust issues, well that and his PTSD, his brain still thought it was in a combat environment and was in over drive catching anything it could. He was proud to say his night vision was better then Sherlock's not that he would ever tell the man this, the sulk that would result would be horrendous and he had given up hope that his senses would settle down once they realized that he was safe once more. 

The stray thought that every time Sherlock so much as whispered "Dangerous" his body would thrum with anticipation and the world would be all the much brighter, he threw that though away telling himself that wasn't it. No matter how well it seemed to fit and he told his therapist (Ella even though he had been told by both Holmes brothers to fire her he was all but forced to go) that's why he thought it was still going. There was nothing he could do for it so he would just have to get use to everything. 

So John decided to close his eyes mostly, giving up on finding patterns to keep him occupied, and not yet wanting to talk to Sherlock about what had happened, content to stay in the quiet with sharp eyes watching his every move. 

The silence held until a nurse walked in from the much brighter hallway, Johns eyes shifting over as she walked closer, eyes taking in all the details from the readouts about his bed, honestly he thought it was over kill, the bullet just grazed his side from what he could tell from his slight shifting about though the stitches in his side told of a deep grazing but all the same the thick medical haze was most likely un needed.

"He's been awake for an hour and a half." Sherlock all but breathed as the woman, Lindsey the name tag read gleaming back slightly in the half darkness of his room, she was rather young looking, probably still in school, moved to look at the monitor a little closer her eyes frowning together for a brief moment. Though she all but jumped when the Detective spoke, the man not even bothering to move his gauze for a moment, eyes focused steadily on John who resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

"Excuse me?" Her voice shook as the Blue/grey eyes shifted towards her for but a moment and John sighed and opened his eyes fully. This earned another slight jump, making him wonder what he was actually on if she was surprised he was awake as such. "How are you feeling Mr. Watson?"

"Doctor actually and I feel like I was hit by a bloody bullet. " She offered him a slight smile as he grinned up at her, though her eyes drifted back towards his IV bag, before the little clip board she was carrying at her side came out and she made a note.

"The pain?"

"Manageable," He didn't feel like elaborating and it seemed like she wasn't going to ask. "When can I have my discharge papers?"

"Not any time soon, you'll be under observation, you did just had a bullet removed, it takes a little time to get over that." This earned a snort from Sherlock but she ignored it, and it seemed now that she had written out everything she needed to that she was on her way out. 

Mycroft must have been pulling strings to get the staff to not offer up his papers when he asked for them, and it almost didn't shock him that the other male had butted in as such. While annoying there wasn't much he could do except walk out which in turn would result in the man himself showing up to the flat.

He would then have to put up with the snipping and the personal attacks on both sides before hearing quips about weight gain and the screeching yowl of the violin being abused. A quick weighting of his options had him staying firmly in the bed not moving and not looking over at his flatmate.

Too bad Sherlock hadn't gotten the hint because his eyes were still fastened to him unblinkingly. He still didn't want to talk about it, and it looked like the start of the conversation would have to come from his end because the other male was silent as well. It was rare that the genius could sit there as such when it was obvious to anyone watching that he wanted to get answers to questions brewing in that skull of his.

Sleep still far from his mind he went back to looking up at the ceiling, there would be at least two more hours before another nurse showed to look after him, now that they knew he was awake they would come check more often to make sure he didn't pull stitches by moving about.

Thoughts drifting away from him again he sighed before he turned towards Sherlock who narrowed his eyes at the movement, before he let an eyebrow rise slightly as a signal to get the other to start talking, nothing was going to happen till they at least started the conversation and the other male didn't seem to be inclined to start talking until he was acknowledged. He spoiled the man too much sometimes it seemed because that was all the other male needed before he launched himself out of his chair and all but prowled closer. 

"If you're wondering, you have thirteen stitches, they had to fish out the bullet." Eyes moved quickly over him there wasn't much they missed even in the dim lighting, he would wonder why they had a light out later because right now it was rather nice on his eyes for it to be so dim. "You're angry."

"What gave me away Sherlock?" John all but snarled, a low hiss under his words that he noticed became more pronounced the angrier he became, he actually had asked Harry about it on one of the rare visits he made, she didn't remember him doing it as a child so he was going to assume he picked it up in the army. Though his words earned him the barest of flinches from his flatmate who edged closer even though it looked like he didn't want to get closer, his eyes meeting the bright blue looking back at him with a slight wince. 

"I didn't want any distractions."

"We'll we see how well that went, maybe next time instead of being a selfish bastard you could actually ask for help you prideful git." John stated evenly as a hand went to clutch at his gown, tugging it to the side so long fingers could hold the fabric with out making the other male move, he didn't move to make Sherlock let go and let him have his hold, if it was something to sooth the manic energy that was sure to soon over take his mind then so be it. 

If he had to guess he would say that he had only been out a few hours, long enough to worry Sherlock but not long enough for the man to be overcome by boredom and flee the room looking for other forms of entertainment. John knew he meant well, his acting like a statue sitting at his bedside when John knew it was the last thing the other male ever wanted to do and was very unlikely to do again if he was to get hurt, but it was almost out of character. 

The overly possessiveness the other male was now displaying was also odd, though like he had always thought before Sherlock didn't like to share his toys and right now John was a shiny new thing to keep him entertained. A shiny new thing that was almost taken away by someone else who wanted to play.

John gave it four weeks of having the other man living in his pocket more so then usual before he settled back down into his usual patterns, though keen eyes would still be watching at all times, in case someone else came along and tried to take him away again. 

He was more then sure if he tried to go out on a date in the next six months it would be thwarted by the other male, violently if he thought there was cause for it, and going on the pull would be next to impossible. Sometimes it was overly suffocating being in the direct attention of Sherlock. 

Silence had fallen and the soft thrumming of energy could all but be felt through the hand that was gripping his gown, fingers were flexing and John knew that the rest of the conversation that should take place, at least in his mind, was over with and Sherlock wanted to move onto something else. 

"Were you hurt?"

"Bruises" fingers flexed again, and John moved his body slightly to the side before hissing as his side pulled. So much for the graze idea, if being told the bullet had to be pulled out wasn't enough of a clue for him, that and the thirteen stitches, the well remembered pain was. "You should stop moving so much," 

"It's fine, when do you think Mycroft will let me go?"

Silence was his answer and it almost, almost made John want to reach over and whap the other male upside the head, knowing it would do him no good other then to make the other male get antsy and send him glares for the rest of the night, something he didn't want to have to put up with. 

With that in mind he settled down to wait till the other male got bored and moved or wait until Lestrade decided to show up with cold case files he wouldn't mind being sacrificed at the alter of Sherlock's _brain_. Heavens knew it would be solved but the steps taken to get there were a trial in and of it's self most( all) the time and John knew the strain it put on the DI when Sherlock got a hold of the cases as he had to be ready to jump at any time. 

It may have been wrong of him to hope that with sunlight a certain DI showed up.

But between then and now there was plenty of time for him to sit in the silence of the room trying to ignore the elephant in the room. Though the urge to punch Sherlock in the face was growing stronger and stronger as they sat, one hand idly flexing at his side a good grip still on the fabric.

There was something almost out of character with the continued stillness of the room, the franticness was slowly calming its self. There usually was still a underlying need to move in his flatmate that only stilled when he was so deeply entrenched in his own mind that breathing became an issue.

All the same though the very fact that Sherlock, of all people, was still at his bedside and from what John could tell, was there even though it hadn't been expected for him to wake up yet. There was a interesting drug cocktail that was slowly seeping into his veins and it was one he had seen knock many a man off their feet. Made him feel as if there was something else up. 

"Did you think about going with him, about not being bored anymore?" John asked finally after the prolonged silence grated at his nerves. There was nothing for it because he knew the two of them would have to talk about it sometime and the fact that Sherlock was being silent for once in his life about the observations around him meant something in the least. 

Oh goodness his brain was going in circles again, that was something to be avoided at all cost. Thinking of avoid things before rushing forwards with it, that was a sign or idiocy at the very least he was sure. Maybe he should blame it on the drug later.

"For a moment, but even if I went with him I would then one day become bored, there was no point in forming a partnership under such pretences."

John didn't know what to say about that, Sherlock had answered him even though he hadn't expected it, and the usual amount of distain he held for saying something he thought was clearly obvious but for once not directed solely at him.

"I see," all he received for this was a soft humming sound before silence fell again, though this time it wasn't nearly as stifling. Fingers flexed idly once again and John turned his head over slightly and looked over to the still staring eyes. "Yes?"

"Your nightmare, it wasn't the one you usually have after being injured." Sherlock paused a moment while John sent him a look, though the man in his usual fashion chose to ignore it pressing on with little regard to the usual social norms. " Instead off trying to defend your shoulder, you were reaching for your leg, clawing at it more like, as if you were trying to fend something off, you heart rate was higher, breathing more panicked, something you feared more then being shot by the sniper and laying there waiting."

John, who finally noticing that he had a arm reaching towards the said limb that had caught his flatmates eyes, sighed and scooted his body slightly trying to get comfortable once more. His eyes closing as he tried to keep the echoes of snarls and the off beat sound of the weapons fire from clouding his senses. 

It had bothered him for a while that the only thing he could remember before a vast chunk of his memories vanished was the vicious sound of a angry big cat, and the _fireburningrippingtearingohgodmakeitstop_ that faded into nothing but darkness. 

But what bothered him the most right now is that he was once again dreaming of such things, when he finally became well enough to talk to his therapist, a some six months after being discharged, she had tried to do hypnosis, it failed of course and just seemed to push the pure _terror_ even deeper into his mind. 

Iddly he noted his thoughts had made a circle of a sorts again, thinking back to what Ella had told him and the deep _knowingnotknowing_ that was rooted there. 

"You want to know what it was, don't you?" John asked after a while his eyes still stubbornly closed. "Well, that makes the two of us." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried as I might to get this out sooner but work decided to have me come on in for more overtime...joy. Anyway I feel I should state, after the fact of course, that no I do not have a Beta, also this is not Brit picked, so sorry for any mistakes. Anyway hope ya'll enjoyed I will try and have the next chapter up soon.


	3. The Quiet,

Three days, three long days. That is how long it took for John to be able to get his discharge papers, and that is how long he had Sherlock sitting in his room staring at him even though Lestrade (bless the man he showed up practically with the sun the day after he was admitted) had brought the usual sacrifices. 

The ever annoying flatmate of his was still there keeping his mostly silent, deductions about his nurses aside, vigil and John resigned himself to the knowledge that he wouldn't have any time to himself anytime soon. Not if the man hadn't started to chant bored in a broken stream of thought, flinging himself about like a magpie before falling on the nearest victim. Instead of his _usual_ answer to something Sherlock had chosen to just sit there, hands not even steepled together as if in prayer as he did so, though he had scarcely let go of the same patch of fabric for those three days. 

John didn't know if it was because the genius thought that he was just going to vanish if he let go, or if there was a underlining worry there that kept the man planted as he was.

Each night after the first it seemed his brain had thought it would be a grand idea to just sit there and throw the same images into his brain, muddling everything there, every time it got to the point where he would claw at his leg, Sherlock would draw him out of the dream. Not that it didn't look like the detective wanted to examine his leg, not something he would ever let anyone do, it may not be horribly scared but all the same looking at it disturbed him.

There was no way he would ever, ever let Sherlock look at that part of his leg, and said detective seemed to know that he would never get a positive reply to his asking this. There was a moment when John was sure that his flatmate would start sulking but it never came so he was slightly worried about going back to 221b.

All the same it came as a relief that after asking, for the fifth time, he got what he wanted and with a minimum amount of fuss, read the kicking of Sherlock out of his room, John set about getting out of the silly gown he had been forced into knowing the moment he walked out of that door to his room Sherlock would swoop over and attach himself once more. 

He hadn't been prepared to take his gown off to check up on his wound, something he had avoided doing while he was still in the hospital's care lest he agree with them on staying, to find that the gauze was still there, he didn't want to risk pulling it away to see how well it was healing. Though he did do a few twisting movements to see how it worked with his injury, and a few movements revealed just a slight pull, not what he was expecting at all after he had caught his own chart and started to peruse the information there. 

Well...he had always healed quickly, at least he told himself this as he shoved his button down shirt on before throwing on a jumper, not because he was cold but because it was comforting and his favourite one. Even if Sherlock had once remarked it looked like overly soggy oatmeal, the man had asked Mrs. Hudson to bring it along when he called her up to bring them a change of clothing earning another "I'm your landlady not your housekeeper." 

He could hear Sherlock standing by the door, most likely had his ear pressed to the wood there so he could swoosh in if there was so much as a loud hiss from John. Not that he would John didn't want to poke at it, that was unprofessional, and he knew what damage it could do if he gave into his urge. 

Why should he when he had Sherlock around to do it for him? Not that he would actually let the man poke/prod his newest addition to a long stream of injuries, a good number coming from following the detective about. Though heaven forbid if the other male looked at his medical chart and saw that the hunk of metal they removed from him wasn't from his most recent brush with a gun but from his last. 

It had migrated from his trapezius all the way to his latissmus dorsi, where in a stroke of fate the other bullet passed by, they hadn't known it was a migrating shard until they pulled it out. John wondered if that was why he had such a good range of motion in his shoulder, and the steadiness to go with it because it had migrated. 

If it came to that in the oddly protective man would growl and spit at him for being stupid and not having it removed once he found out about it.. John didn't really want to put up with the prissiness that his flat mate could bring up with little to no effort. Actually he was surprised that Mycroft, the stubborn man, hadn't brought it up yet in his usual growling sections to try and one up his brother, and in this case divert the ire to someone else for a moment. 

There was already encounter waiting for them when they got back to the flat, even with him staying to try and keep the peace by staying as long as he did.

Distantly he heard Sherlock all but pawing at the door almost containing the energy that was calling for him to go busting in the room. Impatience was something he had long gotten use to, there was nothing he could do for it just like there was nothing he could do for the black moods that stole over the man. Boredom on the other hand was something he could work with, but not right now with the other male having what seemed to be separation anxiety, and dimly he noted his thoughts once again started to circle. It was something that he needed to work on some time soon.

"Go ahead and come on back in Sherlock." John shouted over towards the door, and he was less then shocked when almost instantly there was another body in the room. Silver sheen like eyes watching his every movement and deducing what ever it was that brain could pin point. from the way he was holding himself. "What?" 

"You're moving very well." 

" Yes I am, now while I am moving well, why don't we move out of this room and get back to the flat? I could do with some tea that's not just water.” John said as he moved away from the slightly dazed looking detective, well dazed was not the right word, those sharp eyes watched his every move as he made his way towards the door to leave, his body shifting slightly towards the side as he tried to move quicker then his body wanted to, he wanted to get out of the room before a nurse spotted him and made him go back and be wheeled out. 

Picking up his scripts would be a whole different matter but for now it was just escape from the place that had held him, not that there were any bad memories here it was just the fact that he had to be the one in the bed for once made him more then eager to get out of here. 

The hospital felt strangely claustrophobic to him, it could just be the room and the odd thrumming need to anywhere but trapped in a room not able to really do anything but sit and wait for the doctors and nurses to come and check on him on their will. Having Sherlock just sitting there, quietly and almost like a statue seemed to add to his uneasiness, everything in him told him that the other should be swirling around like a storm with gale force winds as he swept through everything in his path, paying little to no heed to the victims of his path as they were thrown about drifting lost until the storm was abated and the detective had moved on. 

Now he felt the full force of those silver blues watching his every move, and he could feel the calculations and formulas running through his flatmates mind. His own was whispering to him as well, telling him the medical facts of the wound on his side and the facts that went with his range of movement in relation to that. 

The same whispers that had followed his mind after he had been captured and in a stroke of luck escaped, the one that told him his over all recovery was quicker then expected. It had been ridiculously easy to haul the other body along with him as he made his way back to camp. It was this fact that made being invalid back to London all the harder, his leg that had carried him over the sands to safety had buckled enough to keep him living. when the shot came.

But enough of thinking on that, John thought to him self fiercely pushing the fogged memories back as he watched Sherlock gracefully throw his hand up to hail a cab, that man had all the luck in summoning one even when it seemed none was about, and extend his other hand to grab a piece of his jumper. John was sure those long fingers were going to be something he was going to have to put up with for a while. 

True to form a cabbie showed up in what seemed to be seconds, steering towards the walk that Sherlock was leaning over, his ever present and dramatic coat was even moving in the slight breeze adding to the over all picture, made John reach out and grab an piece of fabric himself, gently tugging the other closer away from what looked like an almost fall. Really that other man took no care of himself, and was being utterly reckless with his leaning frame, and with that he was swiftly reminded of his own recklessness. 

Well, not so much recklessness as tying to keep his flatmate from causing a disaster, not that all Sherlock created around him was a disaster but it seemed to follow him around like a lost puppy. Worst still the other male seemed to dote on that lost puppy by feeding it scraps, John often wondered how he had managed to keep up with the gazelle like male for as long as he had, what with all the running involved and the height difference making it hell to run as fast as the other. 

Hopefully there wouldn't be any running for a bit his side was still tender and there was no way he wanted to get a stitch in his side from running willy nilly all over the place. Even though the DI had visited, John didn't think any cases were going to go towards Sherlock for at least a week. 

So a black mood plus clinginess, well if the confrontation in the flat he was sure was waiting for them, well that and repaired windows and sulking from a certain detective, along with the rather tortured strings from the poor violin made for a rather non relaxing recovery period. Not that he really expected anything else, there really was never anything peaceful around Sherlock.

But that wasn't something that bothered him about the man, no it was the lack of self preservation, John wouldn't always be there to put a bullet into the next weirdo trying to get the detective to take a poisoned pill. Though sadly it had been proven that it was also him that got the other male into trouble, Moriarty had targeted him to go after Sherlock, took him as an easy target to lure the other out and sure enough the man did come. 

He was seen as the soft underbelly to the detective, something he would need to keep a watch on incase he really did become that and get his friend into even more trouble. Which was something that was really hard to believe seeing how much the man already got into on a regular bases. 

If he thought it would help John would have tried to pull away from the detective and try and take away another point of attack but, it was already to late, there was nothing for it and he would just have to be twice as on guard. 

First though he was going to have to wait out Sherlock and his insistent hanging, a hand once again woven into his sweater and holding on, this time almost absent minded in its place.

All to soon the taxi was pulling up to their stop, the brass knocker gleaming out mockingly to the two males in the cab, John didn't know if it was a sign that everything was about to go down hill again, Mycroft was not someone who had calm with him and there was nothing for it but to stomp forwards and face what ever it was down as quickly as possible. 

Sherlock, as usual left him to pay the tab, long legs already guiding him towards the door, a frown etched deeply on his face as quick silver eyes darted about gathering any number of clues from the surroundings, his body tense and unhappy. John just walked past him and pushed the door open, by passing a Mrs. Hudson who was waiting off in her sitting room, half an eye on the door, another on the telly that was going off in a laugh track from some silly show or another. 

Taking a deep breath in, his nostrils flaring slightly as the doctor tried to fill his senses with the sent of home, not catching the smoky hint that usually followed Mycroft around like a wet dog, nor the muted perfume that, what ever her name was today seeing as it changed so often that John had given up on keeping track of what it was at the moment, was not present. All there was to be had was the soft musty smell that came from neither of them being all to willing to clean, the chemicals from all of Sherlock's experiments, sharp and stinging those were, the fading sent of gunpowder, and ink. 

Hell, John could even smell the experiment that Sherlock hid a few days ago, this side of turning truly ripe, a sure signal that he should tear through the flat and try and find it before the smell got much worse. But, all the same there was no sign of Mycroft. 

He didn't know if it was comforting that the other man had not come into his home once again to confront his flat mate or, if he should be more worried, and looking for camera's again. Though it would keep Sherlock out of one of his darker moods he always went into because the other had come into his "space". 

Taking a deeper breath, this time through his mouth, John smiled softly to himself and walked back into his flat, ready to relax and start forgetting the events of the Pool. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo sorry that it has been so long since I have updated. There have been family problems and work and school have killed me and then roasted me like Hannibal would for a fine dinner. Sorry the chapter is so short for such an long wait but I have the next started so here's to hoping that everything lets up enough for me to get cracking on this story!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first try at a Sherlock fanfic, I hope it goes over well and I am so very very sorry for how short the beiging is, I have to get the juices flowing while I have the time off from work. Anyway I hope ya'll like it and I hope that Im not just sprouting out random drivel, also as a warning, The Work, as with Sherlock, comes first and I devote most of my time to it so updates are rather slow. Sorry about that.


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